


invisible ink

by renesaramis



Category: Jem and the Holograms - All Media Types
Genre: Child Neglect, Crying, F/F, Harvey Gabor's A+ Parenting, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Motherhood, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24839998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renesaramis/pseuds/renesaramis
Summary: Pizzazz is not mother material.
Relationships: Phyllis "Pizzazz" Gabor/Jem | Jerrica Benton
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	invisible ink

Pizzazz is not mother material. How could she ever be? She doesn’t have a mother or a father to rely on, never has. Her father showered her with toys, and then makeup and instruments — as if they were suitable replacements for love.

 _Love_.

All these years and she still doesn’t know how to show it. She isn’t young anymore; it’s no longer acceptable to be so, well, _angry_ all the time. Not that she has it in her to still be angry. No, that fire died out a long time ago.

She tries to push Jerrica away, at first, when she sees the children. They’re not even ten yet, two little girls clutching onto their mother’s hands; the youngest is half-hiding behind Jerrica’s legs, but her older sister scrutinises Pizzazz with a look that’s purely _Jem_.

 _I’m no good at this_ , she tries to say. _I’ll only hurt them._

She tries to walk away, tries to tell herself it’s for the best. The children deserve something more than her mangled attempts at conventional expressions of love, something she can’t give them.

‘I can see you thinking,’ says Jerrica one night, long after the girls have gone to bed, and they are sharing a seat in Jerrica’s back yard, nursing glasses of wine in front of the firepit.

Pizzazz doesn’t answer; she just watches the flames inhale and exhale, the soft crackle of the fire.

‘You want to run,’ she continues. ‘So why don’t you?’

A look of panic crosses her face; it’s only for a moment, but Jerrica notices, nonetheless. Her eyes soften and she reaches for Pizzazz’s hand, squeezing it gently.

‘They love you; you know.’ She swills the white wine around in her glass with her free hand. ‘They think you’re cool. I’m just Mom. But you’re …’ Jerrica swallows thickly. ‘They love you.’

‘Being cool doesn’t keep them _safe_.’ She doesn’t mean to snap, but once the words are free, they don’t stop coming. ‘Being cool doesn’t mean I know how to take care of them. Being cool doesn’t automatically mean I’m _good_ at this.’

Jerrica raises her eyebrows. ‘You think _I_ knew what I was doing?’ she asks. ‘Because I didn’t. Hell,’ she adds, bringing her wine glass to her lips, ‘when Rio and I took Jena home, I stood in her nursery, thinking I’d be full of joy. But I wasn’t.’ She swats at her eyes, trying to stop them from watering the way they are now. ‘I was _terrified_.’

Jerrica squeezes her hand again, more for her own comfort than Pizzazz’s this time, and rests her wine glass on the table to the right of the seat.

‘You’re right,’ she adds. ‘Loving them doesn’t mean you know what you’re doing, or if how you’re raising them is right. But it goes a long way in ensuring they grow up loved and happy.’

‘You don’t get it.’ Pizzazz’s voice is low, half-frightened at what she’s about to admit. ‘You had a father who was _there_. I got … I got _nothing_ , Jerrica. He thought he could shower me with gifts and that would make up for never being there, never hugging me, never telling me he loved me.’ She glances down at her fingernails; it’s been a long time since she was a Misfit, since her nails were outrageously long and bright. ‘And you know what the worst part is? It’s a cycle … and I refuse to pass that onto anyone else.’

‘Cycles can be broken, Phyll,’ Jerrica says. ‘You’re not alone.’

Pizzazz has seen Jerrica cry more times than she can count; she’s like a little waterfall, crying when she’s happy more often than not. But Jerrica has never seen Pizzazz show any sadness stronger than mild upset — so when the tears start coming thick and fast down her cheeks, and she dissolves into sobs muffled behind her hand, Jerrica startles.

Instinctively she beckons her in closer, relieved when Pizzazz doesn’t reject the comfort. It’s slow going; it takes a full minute of sniffling for her to be comfortable returning Jerrica’s half-hug, but eventually, she nestles into her side, scrubbing away the last of her tears, listening to Jerrica hum what might be an old Holograms song.

‘For the record,’ says Jerrica, her voice barely above a whisper, ‘you are _wonderful_ with the girls. You noticed Sadie’s shoes were getting tight. When we ordered pizza the other night, you asked for no mushrooms because you know Jena thinks they’re gross.’ Absently, she runs her fingers through Pizzazz’s hair as she speaks. ‘I wouldn’t have done that,’ Jerrica confesses. ‘I wouldn’t have noticed Sadie’s shoes were too small. I wouldn’t have asked for no mushrooms on the pizza — I probably would’ve forgotten and then had to pick them all off.’

Pizzazz makes a non-committal noise of understanding and looks back into the fire. She reaches out a hand toward its warmth, smiling despite herself when Jerrica gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze. She knows what it means, what Jerrica is saying without having to speak a single word.

_You are not alone._

Pizzazz is not mother material. But Phyllis Gabor just might be.


End file.
